A/N: Here's Chapter 8! Enjoy (this was probably the hardest to write tbh)

25th December 1981

Harry was one and celebrating his first Christmas with the Black family (or what was left of it). They were all staying at Black Manor — the Great Widows sat in the corner sharing a bottle of sherry and remembering the old days; Melania and Arcturus arguing about something trivial even though they were waltzing to the Wireless; Nymphadora giving Cassiopeia a demonstration of her Metamorphmagus abilities; Marius and Pollux smoking their cigars on the balcony; Narcissa and Andromeda sipping wine together whilst Ted tried to engage Lucius Malfoy in small talk; Druella and Lucretia — the doting grandmothers — helping Harry and Draco open their presents and laughed proudly as they both made to grab the wrapping paper; Ignatius was sampling the mince pies from one of the House-elves and commenting on their texture. Walburga and Cygnus were noticeably absent from proceedings.

Sirius was sat by the window with a glass of firewhiskey in his hand watching the scene unfold around him.

"How are you feeling?" Said a voice from Sirius' right and he turned to see his grandmother Irma, resplendent in blue, take the seat next to him.

"A little strange," Sirius admitted. "I never thought I'd be back here celebrating Christmas, least of all with Harry."

"I know," agreed Irma. "It has been quite the shocking few months but at least everything seems to be settling down."

"Yeah, I hear the last of the Death Eater Trials were last week," said Sirius. "Grandad wasn't very happy when he went to Bellatrix's."

"Neither was your Grandpa," said Irma darkly. "What Bella did was a horrendous thing but we have to move past it, especially since Callidora's great-grandson will be starting Hogwarts the same year as Harry and Draco. You'll have to set something up."

"There's an idea," said Sirius. "I'll speak to Aunt Lysandra later."

"See that you do," Irma declared as she stood up. "And Sirius …"

"Yes Grandmama?"

"Merry Christmas"

31st July 1982

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Harry! Happy birthday to you!"

Harry was two now and a bouncing toddler. His unruly black curls were almost unmanageable but Lucretia liked them anyway. She sighed contentedly as her grandson, helped along by Draco and Nymphadora of course, blew out his candles — much to the delight of his older relatives.

As she watched him tear into his presents, again assisted by others, she leaned into Ignatius' embrace.

"I think I'm getting used to this grandmother thing you know," she giggled. "How about you?"

"What being a grandad?" Ignatius laughed. "I'm much too young and much too handsome!"

He wiggled his eyebrows as if to further the point but Lucretia just rolled her eyes. "And what am I dearest, a frumpy old granny?"

"Not yet," countered Ignatius, earning a swat from his wife.

"If you ask me," said a passing Sirius. "You could both pass for Harry's great-grandparents quite easily."

Poor Sirius didn't have time to jump out of the way of Lucretia's jinx and would spend the next few hours with shockingly pink hair, which Nymphadora matched to make him feel better.

10th October 1983

Harry was three now and was starting to look more and more grownup with each passing day. He and his cousin Neville were currently playing in the drawing-room of Longbottom Manor, under the watchful eye of their doting great-grandmothers. Melania and Callidora were taking tea and chatting animatedly about the goings' on at the Ministry.

"So Arcturus came home looking quite smug," laughed Melania. "Because apparently Barty Crouch Sr. has been shunted off to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Can you imagine how furious he must have been, I mean the man thought he was going to be the next Minister of Magic but who would want him after …"

There was an awkward pause and Melania went pink when she saw the cold look on Callidora's face.

"Oh Callie I'm so sorry," Melania groaned. "Me and my stupid mouth I'm so sorry."

Callidora shook her head sadly. "No dear it's quite all right, there is no need to apologise. In fact, I'm glad you told me about Barty, I'm sure that'll cheer Augusta up quite a bit to know the father of her son's torturer isn't going to be climbing any more of those ladders."

"Speaking of Frank," said Melania tentatively. "Has there been any change?"

Callidora let her eyes drift to where Neville and Harry where playing Dragons and Wizards (a game which included Harry pretending to be the scary dragon that Neville, the brave wizard, was supposed to defeat).

"No nothing but Augusta's still hopeful, though if you ask me she's in denial," she said thickly and Melania noticed that a tear was falling down her cheek. Melania squeezed Callidora's hand.

"If you ever need anything," she said. "You know I'm just a fireplace away. I don't care that our Houses aren't formally aligned anymore you are still family no mater what."

Callidora nodded but was spared from responding when Neville tackled Harry and the two began to roll around the floor giggling madly.

27th March 1984

Harry was almost five now and seemed like a little adult as he bounced in-between his godfather and great-grandmother towards the little graveyard in Godric's Hollow, as he had done the year before and the year before.

It was a cold afternoon and the wind whipped about the trees as the little family made its way towards the place where James and Lily Potter were buried. Violetta was clothed all in black and was using a cane now, much to her annoyance. She had suffered a particularly nasty fall a couple of weeks before and the Healers were recommending that she use it for about another couple of months.

Sirius too was different. His hair wasn't as shaggy and his beard was neatly trimmed. He had started to wear much nicer clothing but he absolutely refused to go anywhere without his leather jacket. It was every bit his baby as Harry was and the amount of times any of his grandmothers had nearly had their heads bitten off if they so much as washed it was starting to border on the absurd.

"Happy birthday Dad!" Harry said brightly when they reached the gravesite. Lily and James Potter had been entombed in white marble, listing their dates of birth and death in elegant gold writing and bearing the Potter coat of arms. Harry was too young to remember their funeral but Violetta and Sirius could remember it as vividly as though it were yesterday — the mourners, the service, the media scrutiny. It was all too much.

"Here dear," said Violetta kindly and she waved her wand and conjured a wreath of white roses from nothingness (Hesper would be impressed).

"Thanks Nana," said Harry and he gingerly placed the wreath on the earth above his parents.

Sirius, Violetta and Harry stood there for some time, silent and still, savouring the peacefulness. In January, Harry had come here with Sirius, Lucretia and Ignatius to pay their respects to his mother. It had snowed then. Harry wouldn't come back now till Easter.

After a while, Harry sneezed and the trio took that as their cue to leave. They didn't notice the figure watching them from afar, collar upturned against the cold.

But then Remus Lupin had always been subtle.

29th August 1985

Harry was five now and not in a good mood. He was dressed all in black and getting ready for the funeral of his Aunt Walburga. He didn't want to go but there wasn't any choice — family supported each other and the House of Black had to show a united front.

His godfather Sirius was sombre as he helped him get ready and Harry, even at his age, was aware that he must be feeling sad. Aunt Walburga was Sirius' mummy even though Sirius didn't like her — but then who actually did like her?

Even Aunt Irma and Uncle Pollux weren't overcome with grief as the family sat through the funeral and Aunt Walburga was their daughter. His Great-Nana Violetta remained as stoic as ever too, barely shedding a single tear for her now deceased granddaughter.

By the end of the day, Harry couldn't wait to go home, but they had to complete the service.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust …"

14th September 1986

Harry was six now and his Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius were taking him and his cousin Draco out to Diagon Alley as a special treat.

"Be careful," his grandmother Lucretia had said to him. "And make sure you don't wander off. It can be busy there."

"I will," he said earnestly. "I promise."

They were currently racing along the cobbled little street like twin blurs, one black the other blond. Of all of his many cousins, Draco was the one who was closest to Harry — sure he could be snobbish and he did possess some pretty backward views on Muggles, but he and Harry had always naturally gotten on because of their love of Quidditch, Chocolate Frogs and Wizard's Chess.

"Wait for us!" Narcissa called out after them. She was swathed in beautiful green robes and looked like a perfect Pureblood witch, but the kindness that burned in her eyes made her seem very likeable.

"Yes do slow down boys!" Lucius said loudly. His long blond hair was slicked back and his dark robes were extremely expensive. Harry and Lucius were never really close, mainly because Lucius and Sirius didn't get on, and Harry only felt like he was tolerated at Malfoy Manor because of Narcissa.

Diagon Alley was bustling with activity and Harry and Draco looked with wide eyes at the bright colours and whimsical shops. Owls hooted from overhead, cats purred; there were bangs and puffs of smoke — violet, green and pink; wizards and witches called to each other in greeting as their children (too young for Hogwarts) giggled and played in the street; Florean Fortescue was doing a roaring trade at his ice cream parlour; clever little Goblins stood imperiously on the steps of the white marble Gringotts. All was as it should be.

"… Mum look …"

"… It's him! It's really him …"

"… Do you think he has the scar? …"

"… Poor dear …"

The whispers carried along the street like wind, ruffling Harry as people passed by. Draco for his part tried to shield him from the murmurs but what could he do? His family was almost as notorious as Harry.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes as she caught up to the boys. Taking each of their hands in her own, she pulled them towards the direction of Fortescue's shooting murderous looks at the passers-by. Didn't they have no shame? No boundaries? No compassion for a boy who lost his parents?

This was something Harry would have to deal with for the rest of his life.

20th August 1987

"Again," said Aunt Cassiopeia sharply.

Harry was seven now and spent three afternoons a week in the company of his Aunt Cassiopeia, learning basic spells and potions in time for Hogwarts. He was using one of the family wands — Alphard's — and while it didn't work spectacularly well for him, it would do until his eleventh birthday when he would receive his own from Ollivander.

He had been training under Aunt Cassiopeia's beady eye for months now, ever since he had accidentally turned her pet kneazle Gertrude pink. Her rage had been almost scary if not for Harry laughing so much and the furious old witch had demanded that he be trained properly. At first, it had been Harry and Draco training together, but not even Aunt Cassiopeia could prevent the two of them from laughing at each other and trying to pull pranks on their aunt behind her back. So, after Aunt Cassiopeia spent an afternoon speaking in rhyming couplets, Harry and Draco were split up and did their lessons separately — Harry in the afternoons and Draco in the mornings.

In terms of magic, Aunt Cassiopeia was a strict tutor and demanded Harry's utmost concentration. He took lessons in Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Astronomy, Herbology and a mixture of Defence Against the Dark Arts and minor curses and hexes (much to the dismay of Sirius). He only covered the basics — such as the First Year curriculum — but sometimes it could be quite strenuous for a seven year-old.

"Wingardium Leviosa," said Harry with a swish and a flick of the borrowed wand but the feather he was supposed to be making levitate didn't move. It didn't even twitch.

Aunt Cassiopeia clucked and took out her own wand, a sleek black-handled one of black walnut, and tapped it against her palm threateningly.

"Disappointing but not surprising," she said finally. "I think perhaps you might still be too young for this particular spell. Remember to enunciate properly or you'll end up like —"

"Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest," droned Harry.

"Precisely," said Aunt Cassiopeia with a small smile. "Now watch … Wingardium Leviosa!"

She gave her wand an almost lazy swish and flick and the feather rose like a cork up in the air; a tiny boat caught up in a storm, it swirled and looped above Harry's head and, despite the fact that he was angry with himself for not being able to do it first time, he grinned like an idiot. Aunt Cassiopeia really was a powerful witch (even if she was an old battle-axe sometimes).

"Now shall we move on?"

"No," said Harry quickly. "I'd like another go please."

His Aunt Cassiopeia nodded sharply and, with an irritable jerk of her wand, the feather fell back gracefully onto the oak of the table. Harry cleared his throat and raised the wand again.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The feather fluttered … jerked … curled and Harry was prepared for nothing to happen when, very suddenly, it rose unsteadily into the air and drifted through the air with far less grace than it had when Aunt Cassiopeia had cast the spell. But Harry was ecstatic.

"Aunt Cassie did you see?" Harry said excitedly. "Look I'm doing it!"

"Yes well done Harry," Aunt Cassiopeia said with a stern look that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But don't get cocky. We still have another hour and I haven't tested you on the family tree yet."

Harry's face fell just as quickly as the feather did.

23rd July 1988

Harry was nearly eight now and as far as Melania was concerned he was practically a man — and she wasn't happy about it. Her great-grandson was currently helping her bake a chocolate cake for dinner that night (celebrating his Great-Great Grandma Hesper's 109th birthday) and was meant to not be using magic to do so. The House-elves were traumatised at the thought of their Mistress and young Master stooping so low as to bake for themselves, but Melania had put her foot down and told them that it was meant to occupy Harry for an afternoon — though as she watched him make mess after mess she was starting to regret her decision.

"Harry James Potter-Black!" Melania scolded, when she caught Harry licking the spoon for the third time. "This cake is for your Grandma Hesper, not you!"

"But Granny," Harry said in mock-seriousness. "Grandma Hesper wouldn't want me to go hungry — she already says I'm skin-and-bone."

Melania laughed despite herself. Indeed, Hesper Black seemed to spoil Harry the most out of all of his relatives. She was extremely elderly now and for the past few years had been living at Black Manor where Arcturus and Melania could keep a closer eye on her. It was a great source of contention between mother and son — with Hesper frequently commenting that she was fitter than Arcturus even at her advanced age, but neither Arcturus nor Melania would hear anything of it. The silver lining for Hesper was that Harry and Sirius visited so often they practically lived there — giving the ancient witch more opportunity to spoil him rotten.

"Yes well the woman'll say anything to get you to eat," Harry's great-grandmother said with an arched brow. "Now hurry up we haven't got long before —"

CRASH!

BANG!

THUD!

Melania's wand was in her hand in an instant. Although the witch was nearly 90 now herself, Melania Black was one of the sharpest witches Harry had ever met (and in a family that boasted the likes of Cassiopeia Black, Lucretia Prewett and Andromeda Tonks that was quite a feat) and she managed to look quite scary despite wearing her apron and glasses.

"Stay right behind me at all times," she said quietly. "And if I tell you to run — run."

Harry nodded and followed his great-grandmother up two flights of stairs. Black Manor was eerily quiet as they made their way through the ancient corridors and passageways to the source of the noise. Melania's normally gentle blue eyes were narrowed and she held her wand aloft ready for a duel. Harry stood behind her with nothing more than a frying pan he'd nicked from one of the cupboards to defend himself with. Whilst it wouldn't do much against spells, it could cause one hell of a headache.

They stopped outside the drawing room and Melania, wand still aloft, pushed open the door ready to spring into action, Harry right behind her, a curse on her lips and a war-cry on his, about to —

"Arcturus?!"

"Grandad?!"

Arcturus Black III, patriarch of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and Harry's only-living great-grandfather, was lying facedown in the carpet barely-breathing. He had been in frail-health for as long as Harry had known him, but even still, seeing the man lying cold and waxy and looking half-dead was still quite the shock.

"What's going — oh!" Grandma Hesper had just arrived on the scene too and, at the sight of her son, looked almost corpse-like herself. "Is he alright?"

Melania bent down to check her husband, hands shaking slightly, and placed his head in her lap — he was breathing.

"Harry," she said shakily. "Go with your Grandma Hesper to the Floo and help her contact St. Mungo's. Tell them Arcturus has had a heart-attack and we need a Healer immediately. Once you have done that, contact Sirius and your grandmother and get them to come here immediately."

Harry nodded sharply and took Grandma Hesper's hand. Together, the little boy and the ancient woman trotted off as fast as a 109 year-old and nearly 8 year-old could could, their minds burning with the need to help Arcturus. Though Arcturus wouldn't die today, the look on his waxy face would haunt Harry for the rest of his life.

24th November 1989

Harry was nine now and spending the day with his godfather for very important business. Sirius laughed as he watched Harry race about in Diagon Alley, zooming from shop-to-shop like an overgrown Bludger. The cobbled street was crowded with wizards and witches up to do a day's Christmas shopping and Sirius was no different. However, unlike the time when Harry had come to Diagon Alley with the Malfoys, nobody stopped and stared and whispered at the Boy-Who-Lived mainly because Sirius Black was much more an intimidating presence than Narcissa Malfoy.

That's not to say they didn't bump into some friendly faces and stop to chat. Neville and his grandmother Augusta Longbottom were outside the Magical Menagerie when Harry and Sirius stopped to chat — though not for long because they had walked in on Mrs Longbottom berating her grandson for losing his toad Trevor (again). They also found the enormous Hagrid coming out of the Leaky Cauldron looking merry. Harry always had a soft-spot for Hagrid and the two would occasionally go for tea at the behest of his Great Nana Violetta — who had never gotten over the fact that Hagrid had risked his life to save Harry from Godric's Hollow. There were also a few warlocks who were friendly with his Grandad Arcturus and the occasional Goblin who his Grandad Ignatius knew that nodded their heads in greeting.

"Right Harry," Sirius said to his godson. "Where do you want to go first?"

Harry wanted to go everywhere — directing Sirius around shop after shop looking for presents that ranged from a new midnight blue witches' hat and matching diamond earrings for his grandmother Lucretia to a new practise Golden Snitch for Draco, who had been begging his parents for one all year. Their last stop was to be Flourish and Blotts to pick up a stack of books that included his Grandma Hesper's present (a lengthy tome about the various Transfiguration Experts across the globe that had included an entire chapter dedicated to her).

As they entered the sleek little bookshop, Sirius went to the counter to pick up the order and Harry wandered over to the children's section. Amongst the hundreds of books, Harry was looking for a particular one — The Tales of Beedle the Bard. He used to have a copy at his Great Nana Violetta's house but it was now so battered and the pages damp and the ink faded from the time he had spilled water on it in a fit of accidental magic. He had been meaning to get a new one — for nostalgia more than anything.

"Can I help you?" Came a pleasant voice and Harry turned to see the shop assistant smiling benignly at him. He was around Sirius' age but the premature grey of his brown hair and the thin scars crisscrossing his face made him seem far older, as well as his shabby robes and the weary way he carried himself. A badge pinned to the front of his robes read REMUS.

"Err, yes please," said Harry nervously. "I'm looking for a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Do you know where it is?"

The assistant — Remus — smiled again and flicked his wand. Instantly, a little blue book came whizzing down from one of the top shelves and soared into his outstretched hand. Harry laughed at the causal display of magic and murmured his thanks when Remus passed the book to him.

"Don't worry," Remus said kindly. "If there's anything else you need just —"

"Harry," called Sirius' voice and a moment later his godfather himself appeared around the corner laden with bags. "There you are I've been looking everywhere …"

Sirius trailed off the moment he saw who Harry was talking to. Instantly his expression hardened and Harry saw the genial light in Remus' eyes blink and then go out.

"Remus," Sirius said stiffly.

"Sirius," Remus acknowledged coldly.

"I had no idea that you were working here."

"Why would you, Prince Black," Remus snorted. "You don't seem to mingle with the commoners anymore."

"How dare you," Sirius said, stung. "After everything I've ever done for you —"

"Oh don't make me laugh," Remus snorted. "The minute those bigots let you back into their lives you jumped at the chance. James is dead and so is Peter and you, instead of trying to reach out to the last-remaining member of your so-called group of friends you went running off to your grandparents for protection!"

"That's not true!" Sirius growled. "I've sent you countless letters but there's been no reply from any of them. You're the one who abandoned your friends Moony."

"You only sent those letters after you were back under the Blacks' protection Padfoot," Remus retorted. "You sent them out of duty rather than —"

"Is something wrong gentlemen," cut in a new voice and the arguing wizards stopped to see Mrs Flourish, a small elderly witch and the current owner of Flourish and Blotts following the death of her husband — one half of the pair of wizards who had founded the bookshop — looking quite put out.

"Not at all Mrs Flourish," said Sirius smoothly and he turned his attention to Harry. "Come on Harry it's time to go, put that book back."

Harry gave the book back to Remus with a mumbled thanks and followed his godfather out of the bookshop. Sirius was in such a bad mood that he ignored the shouts and yells of passersby when he barged into them, Harry struggling to keep up behind him.

"Who was that man Sirius?" Harry asked tentatively when they made it to the edge of the Leaky Cauldron.

"He was a friend of me and your dad's," Sirius said, breathing deeply through his nose. "But he's not anymore and we're not to talk about it anymore Ok."

"OK," Harry said.

And with that godfather and godson made their way out of the small little pub and into Muggle London, where Uncle Marius was waiting to pick them up (and no doubt chatting up some Muggle ladies whilst there).

A month later, as Harry was opening his Christmas presents in front of his family, he was shocked to discover the little blue book entitled The Tales of Beedle the Bard amongst his things. Even more so that it didn't contain a note.

But he knew exactly who it was from.

31st December 1990

"… FIVE …"

Harry was ten now and currently curled fast asleep in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, where what was left of the Black Family were congregating to celebrate New Years' Eve, listening half-heartedly to the Wireless. 1990 had not been a good year for the family and the stench of death permeated the ancient walls of the ancient house.

Pollux Black was dead.

That sentence alone was so unthinkable and so hard to believe that Sirius thought he was in the midst of a bad dream. His favourite grandfather had been so full of life and vigour that it was hard to believe he was gone.

"… FOUR …"

It had happened quickly. Pollux had discovered that his friend and fellow warlock Stanislaus Goyle was in St. Mungo's dying from Dragon Pox and made the ill-advised decision to visit him on his deathbed. A week later Pollux was in bed suffering from the same illness and whilst Healers were confident that he would make a full recovery, Pollux never left his bedroom for two weeks.

He died on 2nd December 1990 in the early hours of the morning, surrounded by his family.

" … THREE …"

Irma had been absolutely devastated and, as Sirius watched his grandmother accept a glass of firewhiskey from Kreacher to toast the new year, she still looked hollow-eyed and distracted. Cassiopeia had confided in Sirius that she was worried her sister-in-law was going to die of a broken heart if she wasn't careful, which was why the normally gruff witch had moved into the house to keep Irma company. Or most likely to argue with his grandmother to keep her mind busy. His Aunt Cassiopeia was one crafty witch sometimes.

"… TWO …"

Sirius looked around at the assembled Blacks — Grandma Hesper and Nana Violetta, looking as ancient as ever; Grandad Arcturus nodding off in his wheelchair as frail as ever; Granny Melania trying to talk to Grandmama Irma; Aunt Cassiopeia by the fireplace with a cigarette in her hand; Narcissa and Lucius embracing under the mistletoe; Andromeda and Ted chatting to a drowsy Nymphadora; Marius trying to flirt with Aunt Druella whilst Uncle Cygnus sulked in the corner; Harry asleep in his grandmother Lucretia's lap; Draco nodding off in the corner; Uncle Ignatius smoking his pipe.

Yes there was death here. But there was death in every family. They would mourn for Pollux, and deeply, but they must never forget that Pollux Black always looked toward the future and Sirius was going to take his grandfather's advice. It was time for the House of Black to look towards the future and honour the past.

" … ONE … HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Sirius raised his glass in a salute and the rest of the family copied him.

'To the future,' he thought as he drained his glass.

A/N: Phew glad that one's over. Please R/R. To the guest who wanted to know the fic where Lucretia and Ignatius were Harry's great-grandparents it's the unfinished trilogy by author Roses and Lavender. Ignatius and Lucretia don't actually appear but it's one of my favourite fics and I really recommend it. If you can't find it go to my page and go on my favourite stories list.